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Blog

My first
Game Boy experience was in Hong Kong in 1991. I was on a family
vacation focused on spending lots and lots of time with aunts, uncles,
nieces, cousins, grandmas, and grandpas -- and with boredom.

I was trapped at a family gathering, annoyed and bored by my aunt's
incessant chatter about school, college, future, and marriage. While
the old folks played mahjong, drank beer, and talked about the old
times in the living room, I retreated to my cousin's small bedroom,
watching the movie Tron dubbed in Cantonese on a 12 inch television.
And since my Cantonese is piss-poor, I couldn't tell wtf was going on
the movie, save for the pretty flashing lights and skin tight latex suits.

I couldn't stand watching Tron. So I looked around -- OK. I snooped
around -- my cousins' room looking for anything interesting, or
something that could divert my attention from the constant noise of
mahjong tiles banging into each other.

And, lucky me, I found a Game Boy with Tetris in the cartridge slot.
I'd had played Tetris before, but never a Game Boy! What is this huge
brick? WOWOWOWOWOW.

As I booted the Game Boy, I thought it looked like a piece of green
doo doo. I was kinda turned off by the mossy green pixels on screen,
but its affinity for green didn't stop me from playing Tetris. After
all, I was desperate! I needed escapism.

At this point, my memory is a little faulty. I don't remember the
details and particulars, though I'm pretty sure I'd played Tetris
until my parents were fed up over losing their money at mahjong. That
or somebody got into a big argument, threw a diva fit, and left the
place in anger. I, however, was happy. Thank you, Game Boy!

"Why don't you go to an arcade?" says my girlfriend.
"Kids wanna play videogames, and they need somewhere to go. I'm
sure you can find arcades in the bay area." Surely, I thought,
she was joking -- or teasing. Because, really, where are the arcades?

Finding an arcade wasn't a problem in the early 90s. Demand for
escapism through arcade games outstripped supply. And as long as
demand remained strong, eager entrepreneurs rushed to capitalize on
the opportunity.

Arcades were once considered a profitable business model that relied
on episodic delivery to squeeze an absurd amount of quarters in the
shortest amount of time. Arcade games, unforgiving and difficult,
punished players by requiring recognition and memorization of
patterns, which can only be done if a) you're gifted with
extraordinary physical and mental dexterity, or b) you continually fed
quarters in the machine. The majority of players fell into the latter.
I sure did!

Opportunists saw the arcades as an easy way to make money -- set up
an arcade cabinet, plug it into a wall socket, leave it alone, and
watch the money flow in. No overhead. No supervision. An
overenthusiastic player may break the controls by pounding and mashing
the joystick way too hard, but for the most part, arcades seemed like
a sure way to make money on a tight budget. Arcades grew exponentially
over a short time, appearing abundantly in neighborhoods, malls,
laundry mats, gas stations, comic book stores, convenience stores,
fast food joints, pool halls, bars, recreation centers, department
stores, Sears, Woolworths…well, you get the point. Arcades were ubiquitous.

In 1992, Street Fighter 2 stood at the center of
attention. Arcades typically had rows of Street Fighter 2 in a room
dimly lit by the glow of the monitors. Players banged on the machine
while shouting obscenities at the monitor -- or to each other. A
cacophony of loud background music, joystick clicks, and button
mashing filled the entire venue, punctuated by Ryu's baritone voice
shouting "hadoken!" on repeat, Blanka's incorrigible screams
and moans, Chun-Li's shrill yapping. Going to the arcades was more of
an event than a diversion. You went to the arcades expecting
excitement. You went to the arcades for the social aspect. You went to
the arcade to experience something you can't get in your living room.

But the arcade bubble popped. The episodic model, relying heavily on
quarters delivered around the clock, was losing its effectiveness as
the audience contracted back into their homes. Exuberance became a
whimper, then silence. What happened? Where did everyone go?

I don't really know. Perhaps it was the increasing power of consoles
that sparked the decline of the arcades. Or the over saturation of
arcades in the market. Or the novelty of Street Fighter 2 wearing off,
exacerbated by several iterations that appeared identical to the
average consumer. Or a business model based solely on quarters was --
dare I say it -- foolish and naïve. Whatever the reasons are,
arcades became the exception rather than the norm.

Without an abundance of quality arcades, I rely on the internet as a
vehicle for competition. Playing Xbox Live at home, alone, with an
awkwardly constructed mic hooked up to my head, isn't the same as
playing in the arcade surrounded by a crowd of passionate, vocal, and
enthusiastic players.

But, hey, I shouldn't be complaining! Online competition is better
than no competition, right? At the very least, when my opponent
accuses me of being a cheap dick, I won't get a beatdown in real life.
A terse message about my sexuality, for sure, but not a black eye.